


The Promises We Make.

by psyleedee



Series: My Baby Shot Me Down. [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Bartender Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comfort/Angst, Crying Castiel (Supernatural), Crying Dean Winchester, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Winchester Whump, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Gang Member Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Sex, Gentle Sex, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Riding, Secret Relationship, Showers, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Kisses, Smut, Twink Castiel (Supernatural), Unsafe Sex, Violence, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee/pseuds/psyleedee
Summary: "You gonna' say somethin'?""What do you want me to say? It's two in the morning, you're back at my doorstep, after three months of being MIA, you reek of blood, which I know for a fact is not yours, and you're here to spend the night. What can I possibly say?"Dean Winchester shows up at Castiel's door one night. It's been three months already. There are some things which need to be set straight.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: My Baby Shot Me Down. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076831
Comments: 17
Kudos: 129





	The Promises We Make.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for mentioned torture and murder.

It's half past two in the morning when the bell rings.

Castiel isn't expecting anyone, especially not at an hour so odd. A moment's panic seizes his body, and he glances out in the hallway. The couch is dipped, Sam's young body draped under a blanket, and he breathes out a relieved breath, slipping on a shirt he found lying on the top rack of his closet as he pads into the living room. The thin wooden door creaks as Castiel clicks it open, peeking an eye out through the gap.

Green eyes meet his.

A choked gasp slips past his lips as he pulls the door open, and standing in front of him, face bruised, lip split, eye blackened, and forehead bleeding, is Dean.

"Dean?"  
He asks, his voice throaty, as he stumbles a step back.

"Hey."  
Dean's voice is sore, and his jaw locks as he takes a step forward.

Castiel's eyes wander down, drifting over his ripped tank top, over his thick, tattooed arms, over a large crimson stain on his stomach, and his bruised, bleeding knuckles. Dean steps forward, and the distinct odour of blood, thick and metallic, floods Castiel's nose, and before he knows it, Dean is staggering forward, falling into his arms.

"Cas."  
He croaks out, his hands crumpling Castiel's shirt where he grips it, face buried in the crook of Castiel's neck, thin, wet tears staining Castiel's skin as Dean goes pliant in his arms. Unable to help himself, Castiel reaches up on his toes, brushing his fingers through the hair at Dean's nape, holding him close in his arms, tight enough to hide him away from the world. Blue eyes prickle with tears, falling onto Dean's calloused skin, one by one, as he loses himself in Dean's arms.

"I didn't know you were coming home."

"I won't be here long, Cas. Just needed to see you."

Castiel pulls away, sliding his soft palm over Dean's jaw, thumb grazing over the dark red cut across Dean's lips, eyes following the action until Dean winces, and Castiel pulls his finger away.

"Stay the night."

He expects Dean to refuse him, but Dean agrees, nodding his head with a jerk as he steps inside the one bedroom apartment, shutting the door behind him as Castiel steps away.

"Where's Sammy?"  
Dean asks, and Castiel tips his head back, over to the comatose body on his couch, chest rising and falling under the blanket.

"He doing well?"

"He's fine, Dean. So am I. It's you who worries us."  
Castiel answers, and walks into the dark kitchen to grab Dean a beer, cautious to remain silent, lest the sound wakes Sam. He has a history exam the next morning, he needs the best sleep he can get.

Through the doorway, Castiel catches a glimpse of Dean, who pulls off his blood-soaked shirt and drops it to the ground, walking over to the sink to splash some water on his face. Castiel's eyes wander into the distance, as he stands against the counter, a glass full of water in his hands, passive and emotionless.

Three months. It's been three months since Dean visited him. The last time he visited, he'd spent the day with Sam and Castiel, playing a board game Castiel had bought once, playing cards, talking, laughing, bonding. The night though, Dean's nights were always reserved for Castiel.

And in the morning, after Castiel had cooked him a hefty breakfast, he'd put his scratchy leather boots on, kissed Castiel on the forehead, and left, with a promise of coming back soon.

No one could tell how soon. No one could tell if he'd come back at all. The cost of being part of Crowley's gang, of being one of his best henchmen.

Castiel was used to seeing Dean bruised and battered. Used to seeing the man he loved soaked with blood. Usually someone else's.

Movement in the kitchen catches Castiel's attention, and he watches Dean's shadow enter before Dean himself, breathing in deep, quiet breaths.

"That for me?"  
He asks, and Castiel hands him the glass of water without a word, folding his hands across his chest as he leans back against the counter, watching Dean's throat bob as he downs the glass in a second flat. Dean sets the glass back onto the counter and turns to face Castiel, simply staring at him for a moment before he speaks.

"You gonna' say somethin'?"

"What do you want me to say? It's two in the morning, you're back at my doorstep, after three months of being MIA, you reek of blood, which I know for a fact is not yours, and you're here to spend the night. What can I possibly say?"  
Castiel's breath falters, and his eyes prickle with tears as he gazes up at Dean's tall, broad frame.

"Are you mad at me?"  
Dean asks, his voice soft in a manner Castiel knows is only reserved for him.

Castiel shrugs, and turns away, letting his hands fall from his chest as he stares down at some mundane part of the wall. Beside him, Dean steps closer, the scent of soap mingled with the faint trace of Dean's cologne encompassing him. Soft hands slip under Castiel's arms, pulling him close to Dean's chest, and a shaky sigh slips past his lips as he presses his cheek against Dean's pecs, a shudder wracking his body, as he tightens his arms around Dean.

"No."  
He says, albeit rougher than he expected to, and Dean's demeanor shifts, his shoulders going lax as he droops his gaze.

Castiel doesn't comment on the sudden change, instead pulls away from Dean's arms, and tugs at his hand, urging him to follow Castiel as they walk out of the kitchen, and into the bedroom across the floor. Castiel notes how Dean's eyes linger on Sam's sleeping body, before Castiel pulls him into the bedroom, and shuts the door behind them.

"Cas-"

"Sit down."

Dean complies, kicking his boots off and sliding them to the corner of the room. Castiel walks over to the bathroom, clicking the supply cabinet open, grabbing some ointment, cotton, and disinfectant. He notes from the corner of his eyes, as Dean undresses down to his boxers. A vague pang of arousal surges through Castiel. It's been so long since Castiel felt Dean's touch on his skin. The lingering drag of his thick fingers on Castiel's flesh, the sound of his grunts against Castiel's ears, the heat of his breath on Castiel's cheek, the gentle rocking of their bodies as Dean pounds him into climax. Castiel knows tonight will be one of those nights. One of those nights where they'll make love for hours at end, until the first trace of a sunrise filters through.

But first, there are things to be tended to.

With a sigh, Castiel nudges the cabinet door shut, walking back out to where Dean sits at the edge of the bed, bare save for the boxers around his hips and thighs. There's a packet of wipes by the bed, and he grabs a few, before settling down in front of Dean, crouching between his legs.

"It's not much."  
Dean gulps, and although Castiel is tempted to, he doesn't meet his eyes. He needs Dean to know he's wrong. That he can't just barge in anytime he likes, with no explanation, and expect Castiel to treat him as usual.

The wipes are soft and damp, and they glide over Dean's rough skin, the blood on Dean's skin seeping away into the wipe, as Castiel skims his fingers over the wounds.

"The blood on your shirt. Not yours, is it?"  
Castiel asks, for lack of better words, as he grabs a cotton swab and soaks it with disinfectant. Dean hisses at the first touch of it to his bruised skin, and reaches up to cover it from Castiel, who only pushes his hand away, meeting Dean's eyes with a single pleading look.

"Not mine."  
Dean grumbles after a pause.

Castiel hums in response, and continues to clean the wounds on Dean's face. It takes them a while, what with Dean flinching, cursing, not to forget, their incessant staring.

"There. All done."

Dean touches his face, now covered with a band-aid on his forehead, and ointment on some other cuts on his body, and Castiel rises, grabbing the waste and stepping back, only for Dean to grab his wrist.

"Let it be there for a while. I need you right now, Cas."

Castiel's breath hitches, and he swallows the lump in his throat, before setting the waste down onto the stand next to his bed, and turning back to Dean.

"Hey, baby, c'mere."  
Dean mumbles, and takes Castiel's hands into his own, before sliding his arms around Castiel's waist, and pressing his face into Castiel's stomach. Before Castiel can oppose him, Dean is kissing his skin, kissing above his navel, kissing up his abdomen, scrunching the fabric of his shirt up, pulling it off his shoulders, and pulling Castiel down into his lap. Chapped lips nip at Castiel's jaw, and a moan slips past his lips, as broad, cold hands press against his warm chest. The meat of Dean's palm rubs against Castiel's nipple, and he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, falling pliant into Dean's arms, grinding his crotch against the chubby erection bulging inside Dean's boxers.

"Dean," he whines, surprised at the neediness in his voice, as he leans down, meeting Dean halfway into a soft, languid kiss. The dry touch of Dean's lips against his own isn't by any chance, new, but considering the time they've spent apart, his lips feel foreign, inviting and tempting, and somewhat different. Dean tastes of whiskey, _god_ , so prominently whiskey. Neat whiskey, and the thought of it has a burn sliding down Castiel's throat.

"Missed you."  
Dean mumbles against his lips, and Castiel sucks in a breath, dragging his lips lower, down to Dean's collarbone, as he hum, and mumbles back a soft _missed you too_.

"Missed how you feel, Cas, missed your touch."

Castiel whines at Dean's coaxing words, and nudges him back until he's lying back on the bed, wide green eyes peering down at Castiel, who kneels between Dean's legs, sliding his boxers down until his cock springs free, nudging against Castiel's parted, spit-slick lips.

"You gonna' suck me off, baby? Gonna' swallow me down?"  
Dean's words only spur the wave of arousal coursing through Castiel, and in response, he widens the distance between his knees, lifting his ass up in the air as he leans down to wrap his hands around Dean's cock, two damp palms jerking the fat, erect cock until it's twitching to come.

From the corner of his eyes, Castiel notices Dean crumpling the bedsheets in his hand, head fallen back on the pillow as a string of filthy, mindless words slips past his lips, a litany of _fuck yeah, Cas_ and _yeah baby, right there_ , spilling out.

When Castiel knows Dean is close, he wraps his fat pink lips around the throbbing, red tip of Dean's cock, and he hollows his mouth around the length, pressing his lips tight, creating a tight, wet heat for Dean to thrust up into. The thrusts start out rhythmic at first, and Dean's bruised knuckles, now covered with fading ointment, thread through Castiel's hair, holding his head in place, as Dean bucks his hips up, moaning and spitting out curses left, right and centre. The thrusts become sporadic after a while, and Castiel's name graces Dean's lip, a prayer, as he comes inside Castiel's mouth, the salty, musky taste of semen flooding Castiel's tongue. The hand in his head falls loose, and with no hesitance whatsoever, Castiel swallows the semen down, arousal thrumming under his skin.

Allowing Dean some time to relax, Castiel crawls up his broad, firm, inked body, and lays his head down on Dean's chest, hair grazing the bottom of Dean's chin, and warm hands come around to wrap over Castiel's waist. Silence lingers in the air, uncertain and thick. Castiel drags a nimble finger down the large tattoo piece on Dean's chest. The colours are dark, a little faded, but the lines of it are prominent. It reminds him of an old canvas, one that has been painted too many times, and the colours of which have darkened. On his back, Dean's hands move up, holding him close. Against his volition, Castiel's eyes drift up to Dean's. He expects Dean to be sated, content.

But he's not.

Passive green eyes stare off into the distance with a cold, frigid glint. It's unusual of Dean to remain so silent, especially after they make love, or find themselves in the midst of it. But Castiel is nothing if not devoted to Dean, and he knows Dean, better than Dean probably knows himself. He knows what every twitch of his lip means, every shallow breath means, every passive stare means.

"Dean."

Dean's eyes blink back to Castiel, and he widens his lips in a smile, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. A split second later, there are tears pooling at the rim of Dean's eyes, and his lips quiver. Eyes wide and concerned, Castiel sits up on Dean's stomach, reaching a hand down to cup his jaw.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

A single tear rolls down the side of Dean's face, and he squeezes his eyes shut, bringing his hands up to bury his face in his palms, as his shoulders jerk with the sobs in his throat.

"Hey, Dean, hey, talk to me, sweetheart."  
Castiel coaxes, his own lips quivering at the sight of Dean so broken. He nudges Dean's hands away from his face, and leans down to cradle Dean's face close to his chest, hands threading through Dean's hair, as he gives Dean's shoulder a soft squeeze.

"Talk to me, baby, come on, it's okay. I'm right here, alright? Was it something I said? Dean, please, talk to me."  
Glassy green eyes peer up at Castiel, lips trembling and hands drifting across his thigh, and Castiel leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Dean's face.

Dean moans, and Castiel lets himself loose, flowing and drifting with the kiss, wherever it takes him, as he drinks in the taste of neat whiskey, paired with that of Dean's lips, and he's sure somewhere in there are tears. His hands cradle Dean's face, and Dean's settle at his hips.

They pull back after a few long seconds to meet each other's eyes.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Castiel asks, running his knuckles down Dean's face in a soothing stroke, disheartened at the sight of Dean's still blurry eyes.

"I don't want to go back," Dean croaks out, and God, his voice is so wet, so heavy, it twists a knife in Castiel's guts, and he swallows thick.

"Go back where, baby?"

"Anywhere. I don't wanna' go. I wanna' stay here with you, and Sammy."  
Drop after drop, tears rolls down his face, and Castiel can do nothing but imagine with a heavy heart, the worst of what his lover must have seen out there.

In truth, Castiel wants to know more. What was so scarring? So gruesome, even for Dean Winchester, who tortures people and watches them bleed every single day? What could possibly have incited a reaction like this in Dean? A reaction where he's crying, mumbling, hiding? Castiel wants to know, but he knows better than to linger upon whatever is troubling Dean. He can't pick at the wound, so he simply wraps his arms tight around Dean's shoulders, leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Then stay," he says, and feels Dean nod against his shoulder, feels Dean squeeze him, Castiel's hands roaming across the expanse of his naked back.

Castiel squirms out of Dean's hands, and sits back on the bed, rummaging through the drawer next to him until he finds a small bottle of lube. He decides to forgo the condoms, needing to feel Dean inside him exactly the way he is. Dean, who gets with the plan in a few seconds, lies back on the bed, eyes fixed on Castiel, who is the only one to move, even when he lifts his hips and pushes his underwear off before tossing it off the bed. In a swift motion, he's on top of Dean, straddling Dean's thighs, brushing his ass against Dean's straining cock.

A finger drags down his back and dips into his ass, dragging down the taint before reaching the tight rim around his hole, and it punches a gasp out of him. Castiel leans down lower and meets Dean halfway for a kiss. This time, their lips crush against each other, noses pressing, breaths heaving rapid, and wandering hands drifting over each other's skin.

"You're gonna' stay right here with me," Castiel says, nipping at Dean's jaw before dropping to nose against his neck, "-no one's going to hurt you. All mine. All mine, every day and every night. Gonna' keep you all to myself," he mumbles, rocking back against Dean's dry fingers.

"Gonna' make sure you're always happy, always smiling," he continues with a moan, and his lips wrap over Dean's nipple as he scoots back, dragging his taint over Dean's cock as he does so, evoking a loud moan from the latter. Grabbing the lube from beside him, Castiel coats his fingers in the cold gel, and dips them between his thighs, rubbing them over his hole and pushing his fingers in with a loud grunt. Dean's lips drag up his navel, kissing at the freckle next to his nipple, and reaching down to slip his dry fingers inside Castiel's wet hole.

" _Fuck_ , I love your fingers Dean," Castiel croaks out, and Dean hums, pressing his face into Castiel's stomach, as he continues to pump his fingers alongside Castiel's. A few frantic pumps later, Castiel is pushing Dean's fingers away, eyes narrow with exhaustion as he searches for the bottle of lube and pours some down onto Dean's erect cock, slicking it up with a few strokes, before lifting his hips up and scooting forward. Dean's hands settle at his hips, giving them a soft squeeze before burying his face into the crook of Castiel's neck, kissing up his neck, staining his skin with tears, and Castiel refrains from commenting on it.

Castiel leans back, compelling Dean to look up at him, and the moment their eyes meet, Dean's swollen and teary, they smile. Dean although, not as assuringly as Castiel, leans up to capture Castiel's lips in a kiss, and Castiel gives in, letting Dean drink in as much of him as he pleases, before guiding the tip of Dean's cock to his hole. The hands at his hips move up, wrapping over his neck and jaw as Dean drops tender kisses over his cheek and jaw, and then, with a grunt, the head of Dean's cock breaches Castiel's hole.

_"Cas..."_

"I know, I know," Castiel gasps, sinking down on Dean's cock as the hands at his jaw fall to his hips, and Dean squeezes tight, before resting his head against Castiel's chin. Castiel keeps lowering himself until he's buried to the hilt, until he cannot take anymore of Dean. And then come the shuddering breaths, the quiet moans, the heated touches, and Castiel lifts his hips, dropping them back down with a jerk, grinding his bottom against Dean's crotch, swallowing inside him, as much of Dean as possible.

"Keep going," Dean mutters, and Castiel nods, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck as he brushes his fingers over Dean's cheekbones. Once they flow into a slow, languid pace, no haste, no rush, no urgency, only want, Castiel tilts his head down to meet Dean's eyes.

The tears still pool at the rim of Dean's, but Castiel is glad to see his lips aren't trembling any longer.

"I love you," Castiel mumbles, his own eyes wet with tears as he stares down at Dean, who gives him a weak smile and rests his forehead against his cheek, "-don't go back. Please. Stay with me, I need you, Dean. I can't do this alone."

Dean massages his fingers at Castiel's sides, and in the silence of their night, the only noise being there heavy breaths and the slick smacks of Castiel's wet ass over Dean's cock, Castiel can hear the helplessness in his own voice, the raw, unsheathed desperation, and part of him pities himself at the sound of it.

"I'm not gonna' go anywhere, Cas, gonna' stay here with you. Forever. I'll get you a ring. Promise. You don't gotta' wear it, but I'll get you one. You'll be mine, forever. All mine."  
Dean breathes, and although Castiel knows it's him speaking in his arousal induced haze, he can't help but feel a rush of warmth course through him.

"Yes, yes, yes, oh Dean, yes, please, don't go, don't go anywhere, stay with me baby, I need you, I need you so much. I can't do this any more. Promise me you won't leave, promise me Dean," Castiel sobs, his hands cupping Dean's jaw as he bounces, his hips faltering as Dean squeezes his hips, mumbling a string of _fuck, gonna' come_ before Dean's thrusts stagger, and then Dean is coming in thick, white stripes, sheathing Castiel's inside with hot, guzzling release.

Another grind down on Dean's spent cock, and Cas is seeking his own release as Dean wraps a hand over his cock and jerks him, the traces of Dean's release spilling through Castiel's debauched hole, down his thighs and onto Dean's lap, as he peppers gentle kisses down Castiel's chest, and continues to jerk him. Castiel feels a familiar curl in his gut, and he clenches his ass hard, his shoulders and calves tensing, as he digs his toes into the bed, and with a broken _Dean_ , comes, painting all across Dean's chest and stomach, right as Dean captures his lips in a kiss.

"Fuck," he mumbles, and slumps against Dean's broad body, not bothered about the come sticking against their chests as Castiel wraps his arms around Dean's back, forehead falling against Dean's shoulder as he feels a soothing hand run through his hair. His eyes slip shut, and all he can comprehend for the moment, is Dean's voice, a whisper, as he speaks to Castiel.  
"So good for me, sweetheart, so strong for me. I love you so much. Never going to leave you. Never."

And then Castiel feels a drop of water hit his shoulder. And then another. And another.

At once, Castiel pulls away, and his hands brace the side of Dean's face as he stares down at him, eyes studying every inch of his face, lips trembling and eyes intense.

"Dean? What is it?" Castiel asks, and feels Dean's hands slide around his bare waist, pulling him closer, squeezing him so tight, as if Castiel might disappear any second. Tears roll down Dean's face, and he shakes his head, but the quiver of his lips says otherwise.

"Dean, baby, I need you to use your words, okay?" Castiel looks around for a moment, as if it might help him in any way, before turning back to Dean, "-how about this, why don't we go take a shower? Will that help you? You don't need to speak, okay sweetheart? We'll clean you up, okay, and you get some sleep. I'll make you some sandwiches if you want, okay? C'mon."

At once, Castiel untangles himself from within Dean's tight grip, and steps on the floor, dragging his hands down Dean's shoulder to link his fingers through Dean's.

"Baby come on, just a shower," he says, and kisses the top of Dean's head, who stares out the window, eyes passive and inscrutable, and the expression coils something dark within Castiel's gut. At Dean's silence, Castiel slips his arms under Dean's armpits, and makes a lousy effort to haul Dean up. Dean smiles as he blinks back to the present, nudging Castiel away as he steps off the bed. Castiel grins, reaching up on his toes to drop a kiss over Dean's forehead, and before he can step back, Dean hooks his arms under his thighs and hauls him up, a sad smile on his face as Castiel yelps, and chuckles into the depth of Dean's neck.

"Hey, I love you." Castiel mumbles, nipping at Dean's jaw, before lifting his eyes up to meet Dean's gaze.

"I love you too, Castiel."

Dean almost never uses Cas's full name, so it does strike him as a bit odd, but Castiel blames it on the intimacy between them.

The door to the bathroom clicks open, and Dean settles Castiel down on the floor, but not without dropping a soft kiss over his head. Castiel smiles, and without a word, shuffles into the shower, checking the water before letting the water spray down from the shower head. Castiel steps aside, noting how Dean slumps back against the tiled wall, eyes distant and veiled thinly by a sheen of tears.

"Dean? C'mon."

Castiel urges him once the water is warm enough. Dean blinks back, as if being drawn by Castiel's voice, before he moves, stepping into the shower, eyes glued anywhere but Castiel as Castiel steps in with him. A sigh slips past both of their lips at the first spray of warm water over their heated bodies. Castiel rubs a hand down his chest, watching the sticky release stuck to his chest wash away. Dean shuts his eyes, his breath stuttering as he lets the water wash over him altogether, through his hair, down his muscled shoulders, and down his bruised chest.

It's times like these where Castiel aches the most. Times where he knows Dean is hurting, and yet, he finds himself unable to do anything but watch.

Silently, Castiel grabs a clean wash cloth from behind Dean, wets it under the warm water, and drags it down Dean's chest. His green eyes flutter open at the touch, and fix onto Castiel, whose eyes follow the movements of his hand on Dean's chest.

"What did you do, Dean?" Castiel asks, but it isn't curious, it's helpless, and Dean sighs.

"Kids, Cas. Two of them."

An anchor drops inside Castiel's gut as he lets out a staggering breath, but refrains from letting his emotions show. Absently, his hands travel to Dean's, holding them up as he stares down at them. The same hands that kill someone each day.

"They were crying. They didn't deserve it. Not at all."  
A sob rises at the back of Dean's throat, and Castiel can see the way his lips tremble, eyes leaking tear after tear, as his wide green eyes stare right into Castiel's eyes.

"Can you turn back time?"  
Castiel asks, and Dean shakes his head.

"Then there's nothing you can do, Dean."

A silence crawls between them as Castiel rubs the cloth over Dean's shoulder, down his pliant arms, and up his chest. The water pours over them, hot and soothing, and Dean sucks in a shaky breath. His head falls against Castiel's shoulder, and Castiel can tell he's trying so hard to bite back a sob.

Castiel recalls, clear as day, the moment he first saw Dean. He'd been ferocious, ruthless, the guns in his hand spitting bullet after bullet as they hit Michael, the owner of the bar Castiel had been working at. Huddled against a corner, praying for his life, Castiel had buried his face in his hands, and he'd heard the bullets get louder, closer, and he'd only wished for one thing. Mercy. But then, a shadow fell upon him, and the gunshot had stopped ringing at once. Curious, Castiel had opened his eyes, trying to back into the wall the moment those livid green eyes met his. And for a moment, when Dean reached his arm out, Castiel thought, this is it, this is the end, but instead, Dean had offered him a hand to pull him up. Buried in Dean's warm, big hands, Castiel found, for the first time in his life, a meaning to his baseless living, and in an instance, a single glance had been shared between them, worth a thousand words, and Dean had taken him home, fed him, and made love to him all night. They'd spent the early morning hours speaking of life and hopes, of aspirations and expectations, and Castiel knew in a single moment, he'd fallen for Dean, irrevocably and irresistibly.

"Hey," Castiel smiles, trying to digress from their conversation as he grabs a bottle of shampoo and squeezes some out on his palm, "-you remember that time we went on that road trip? With Sammy? The one where he lost his shoe?"

Dean grins in the slightest, and nods his head, eyes shut as Castiel massages the shampoo into his scalp until it lathers.

"Remember how we'd gone a town back to look for his shoe? I can't believe we did that. It was hilarious. Hey, what was that town, shit, I don't remember the name."  
Castiel chuckles, and Dean's hands slide over his waist, pulling him close as he massages the back of Dean's ears, at his nape, and over his head, stepping back to let the water pour through his hair and wash the shampoo away.

"Buffalo. New York."  
Dean mumbles, and Castiel smiles.

"Ah, right."

They slip into a silence, and Castiel feels Dean's fingers run down his waist, before Dean rubs a hand over his face, and opens his eyes. They settle upon Castiel at once, and Castiel gives him a small smile.

"Dean? You don't have to go back."

"Blood oath, Cas. Dad's debt too."

"Fuck it. We'll go away from here. We'll use our savings, we'll take a loan. I'll resign from my job. We'll buy a house somewhere far away, you, me, Sam. Just us. And Sam can finish his college over there."

"Over where?"  
Dean cuts him off, a little agitated.

"Where we're safe. Where you come home to me each night, no bruises on your face," Castiel's fingers run down the blue marks under Dean's eye, and he winces, "- where nothing can hurt us."

"They'll hunt me down, Cas. Just like they did with Barth today. They'll kill me, worse, they'll kill you, kill Sam. I can't risk it."  
Dean croaks out, and Castiel sighs, before reaching for the soap of bar and nudging Dean to turn around. Castiel rubs the soap over his back, lathering it all across the vast expanse of his bare skin, before letting the soap wash away and massaging his fingers into Dean's flesh, pressing into the cricks at his neck, or working at the knots in his shoulders, thumbs digging into the flesh, before he steps away and allows the water to pour down Dean's skin, silently washing away the soap. Castiel turns Dean around and hands him the soap, before turning away and shampooing his own hair, letting Dean clean himself up.

"I don't want to live my life running from people, Cas."

"You'd rather come home once every three or four months, covered in blood, broken and shaken."

Dean sighs at Castiel's words.

"What do you want me to do? Tell Crowley I want out? Because my boyfriend wants me to? Don't think he'll kill me the moment he finds out I'm a pansy?"

There's an edge to Dean's voice, and Castiel winces at the tone, only for Dean to slide his hands around Castiel's waist and pull him back to embrace him.

"I can't risk you Cas, you're my- you're my everything. I don't care if I die, okay? But you, I can't lose you, or Sam, and Crowley? He's a sick son of a bitch. He'll kill me the same way he makes me kill the others. He won't touch me, Cas, not a bit, but he'll make me watch as he picks you apart, piece by piece. He'll make me watch as kills you. I'm not strong enough for that, Cas, I'm not-" A sob tears through the air, and Castiel turns at once, reaching to pull Dean into his arms as Dean squeezes him, "-I'm not strong, I'm not-"

"Hey, hey, baby, it's okay, no one's going to hurt us. No one's going to hurt me, Dean, no one's going to hurt you. I won't let anyone touch you baby, but you have to promise me to stay the night. Okay? You'll stay the night, and you won't leave tomorrow. Tell Crowley you were hurt. Tell him you needed a day off."

Dean looks up at Castiel, blinking through his tears as he leans in for a kiss, but Castiel holds his hand up to stop him, and Dean glances up at Castiel's eyes.

"Promise me, Dean."

A long pause later, Dean sighs.

"Promise."

Castiel smiles, and lets the water wash over them for a few more minutes before turning the shower off. They stay silent for a few moments, the water sliding down their bare bodies, before Castiel steps out, and the cold air prickles his skin at once, but he grabs towels for the both of them, and hands one to Dean, who grabs it without a word and begins patting himself dry. Castiel does the same, before wrapping the towel around his waist and clicking the door open. He walks out, heading for the closet at once, followed by Dean, who lingers in the bedroom uncertainly.

"Here," Castiel says, grabbing one of Dean's t-shirts and shorts, "-these are fresh. Make you nice and warm."

Dean gives a weak smile as he accepts the folded clothes, and Castiel kisses his nose, before walking away to grab a fresh set of clothes for himself.

"You want a sandwich, baby?"

"No. Wanna' sleep."

"How about a milkshake? We have bananas-"

"Cas, I just wanna' sleep."

Castiel shuts up at that, and drops the towel on one of the chairs in his bedroom once they're both dressed. Dean looks clean, fresher than he did a few hours ago. And yet, his eyes are passive as ever. Emotionless. Castiel nods, and simply grabs their dirty clothes and piles them up at the corner of the room. Dean in the meanwhile, changes the sheets, as Castiel fluff up the pillows and grabs a large, warm blanket from the shelf. A glance at the clock show's it's almost five in the morning, and he decides to go into work a little late. Besides, the restaurant doesn't open until noon.

"You'll stay tomorrow, right Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean says, but his words sound hollow. Meaningless.

Helpless, Castiel slips under the covers, switching the night lamp off after him, as he feels the bed dip in the dark, and then the familiar weight of Dean settles next to him, his warmth exuding in brief waves, and Castiel presses his nose against the scent of the fresh sheets, before curling into Dean's side. Dean simply slips his arms under Castiel's neck and over his stomach, before pressing his cheek to Castiel's.

"We'll figure something out, baby, I know we will."

"Hmm."

"I just need you to be with me, Dean, and I know we'll work through this."

Castiel believes they can work something out. He doesn't know what, but he knows they can. Dean however, doesn't sound as hopeful.

"I'm always going to be here for you, Cas, promise."

"I love you."

"I love you so much, angel," Dean mumbles into Castiel's damp hair, before pressing his lips to his forehead, and then, a silence creeps around them as they drift to sleep, buried in each other's arms.

* * *

When morning comes, a few hours later, Castiel wakes with a sense of ease and calm. He hasn't slept so well in days, especially not without Dean by his side, and he awakes well rested. With a broad grin on his face, he reaches out for Dean. But his hand falls upon the naked bed, sinking into the mattress.

Perplexed, chest heavy and breath held, Castiel turns. The bed is empty. On the pillow, however, is a box— a tiny, red box.

And inside the box, Castiel discovers— a small, thin, silver ring.

It slips seamlessly onto his finger.

A single tear rolls down his eye.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate ending the year on this angsty note, but don't worry, I'll get something sweeter for you guys in a few days to set 2021 off to a sweet start! 🥰
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos, and let me know what you felt about this fic! 😁


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